


Useless in Stormfist

by Team_Two_Cats



Series: Useless (Suikoden V) [1]
Category: Suikoden, Suikoden V
Genre: M/M, Sexual Diplomacy, Short Chapters, disaster bi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 08:58:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19081774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Team_Two_Cats/pseuds/Team_Two_Cats
Summary: Everyone knows that Falenan princes are useless, so why fight it? Frey would much rather have fun than deal with the responsibilities of being a member of the royal family. When plots begin to swirl around him, though, and threaten his family and country, will he be able to keep it in his pants long enough to do something about it? Or is the one thing that could unravel the carefully laid plans of treason and power a slutty prince who never claimed to be anything but useless?Part 1:Frey arrives in Stormfist with a mission of uncovering the Godwin's plots, but when he meets Shoon, he gets a bit...distracted.





	1. ch01.01

Everyone thinks that being a royal male means endless parties, pleasures, and pageantry, a celebration of uselessness paired with wealth, privilege, and politics. And it would be such a shame to disappoint everyone.

The streets of Stormfist might be straight to a fault, but its alleyways are queer enough, and Frey does his work on his knees while Lyon and Georg keep watch, making even flaunting the regressive laws of the Godwins by sucking off not only another man, but a gladiator at that, seem positively tame. Still, he enjoys the tremble in Shoon’s legs as he traces his slender fingertips up the back of bare thighs. This trip has been something of a nightmare, a series of intrigues that have served only to underline that Stormfist was a city to be avoided at all costs. The only bright spot was to be a certain hot young gladiator who seemed to be about as his limit.

“P-prince,” Shoon gasps.

Frey pulls back, replacing his mouth with his pumping hand, locking eyes with Shoon as he opens his mouth wide. The gladiator comes hard, streams of semen catching Frey in the mouth, yes, but also up his cheek and into his snow white hair. Frey smiles and licks his lips, enjoying the way Shoon’s pupils erase his irises, the way his cock pulses with desire even as he shakes like a tree in the wind from the force of his orgasm.

And then Frey stands, biting his bottom lips as his own erect cock rubs against the fabric of his lose trousers, strategically concealed in the billowing folds of his tunic.

“Sorry about that,” he says, smiling and tilting his head to the side. “You were simply too cute to pass up. Now that we have some, ahem, privacy, please tell me how I can help.”

Shoon takes a moment of stunned silence to recover, face flushing, hands quickly moving to tuck his now flaccid member back into his pants. His tight, leather pants. Frey feels himself stir again but tries to keep his mind to business. Later he can allow himself a bit more…distraction.

“Ah, the thing is, P-prince, tha—“

“Please, call me Frey. I promise I’ll only make you call me Prince when we’re in _proper_ society or when I’m sucking your cock. Otherwise Frey is quite all right, though I’m partial to Freyja if I’m taking you up my ass. And Dour if—“

“F-frey, then!” Shoon blurts out, face somewhere darker than crimson. “T-there’s something in the cells that you should hear!”

And he lays it all out, the voices and the subterfuge, the uncertainty and the hope that Frey is someone to be trusted. Someone to be counted on. Which is a laugh, honestly, because everyone knows Falenan princes are entirely useless. But Frey nods along, mind slipping to those leather pants, and he agrees to whatever will give him more time to appreciate them.


	2. ch01.02

It goes wrong. Of course it does. It goes wrong and after a long sexless night he’s standing in a small cell with Gizel Godwin and Euram Barrows—a fate he’s certain is on some demon’s fetish dreamlist of hells to inflict on mass murderers, grifters who swindle old women out of their puppies, and people who put salt on salads.

“I had nothing to do with this outrage!” Euram cries, shrill voice like a harpsicord being gutting. “Zegai acted entirely on his own behalf!”

Frey’s eyes wander from the pair of nobles to the delicious mountain of man behind them. Bound to the wall and floor, bleeding from a cut on his cheek from where the guards were especially rough with him, he hasn’t said a single word in his defense. Which wouldn’t bother Frey much but for two reasons. First, it would be an incredible waste of a fantastic yum to have to execute the gladiator. There were _uses_ for a man that broad and buff and Frey felt himself warming a bit despite the proximity to the libido-destroying men otherwise taking up the room. Second, of course, was that Shoon seemed positively devastated, and despite having just met him, Frey did care that Shoon was happy, or at least not too sad to enjoy some princely diversions.

“No one here thinks you’re capable of pulling off something so politically complex, Euram,” Gizel says, and Frey can’t help the corners of his mouth quirking up as the jab goes completely over the Barrows’ head.

Euram nods vigorously. “Exactly!” he says, then stops, eyes narrowing as he catches up the slight. “Hey now!”

“What I mean is,” Gizel says, “that this is obvious a very sophisticated plot laid by our great nation’s enemies. Ames must be stirring again. As the Godwins have been warning about for some time.”

Euram seems about ready to burst with how red his face gets, but instead of saying anything more, he stamps out of the room in a huff. Frey sighs. He might only have just turned eighteen, but being around Euram makes him feel thirty at least. Positively ancient.

“I hope that I can count on your discretion about all this,” Gizel says, and Frey nods and waves away the comment.

“I’m not hiding anything from my parents,” he says. Of course he wouldn’t. They sent him here to find out something exactly like this and he might be useless but he’s not a complete idiot. Most of the time. Not with people he has no interest in fucking, surely, and Gizel, aside from being his aunt’s castoff, is just a complete bastard.

“I’d never dream of asking you to do that,” Gizel says, eyes sparkling.

Frey wants to vomit.

“But if you could perhaps keep it from reaching the ears of the other nobles.” Gizel’s eyes wander up and down Frey’s body and okay he does throw up a little in his mouth but swallows it back down. “You have a bit of a…reputation, after all, as sometimes having loose lips. Which I could always help you occupy if—“

Frey holds up his hand. No wait, scratch that. Freyjadour, Prince of Fucking Falena, holds up his hand. “If you finish that statement I _will_ throw up on your fancy shirt.”

Gizel narrows his eyes, mouth pulling down into a hard line.

“So be it,” he says, and turns sharply toward the door. “But if word of this gets around, I will make sure things go poorly for you. _You_ might be off limits, but that’s not say I can’t find other ways to make you pay.” His eyes flick to where’s Shoon’s standing in the corner looking hot and sad.

Frey shrugs despite the anger in him, the desire to _do something_ , even if there’s no chance in any rune-blasted hell that he’d be able to take Gizel in a fight. The man was an arrogant fool, but he was also a Godwin, and as such would have had a world class education in swordsmanship. Instead Frey imagines spreading it around that Gizel has DoReMi Crabs.

Gizel slides from the room, letting his threat act as farewell. Frey turns to Shoon, now very certain they aren’t going to get another chance tonight to do anything but sleep in very different places and accommodations. At least Frey can get him back to his bunk.


	3. ch01.03

“Prince, you should really learn to be more discrete,” Lyon says, pulling a piece of lint from his shoulder. “Your parents won’t be happy if you end up getting arrested for…inappropriate desires before you figure out what exactly is going on here.”

Frey sighs and shoots a pleading look at Georg, who grins like this is all some joke and offers no help at all. Terrible old man.

“I am the picture of discretion,” Frey says. It’s hardly fair for them to team up on him like this. He’s certain that Sialeeds wouldn’t care. She’s probably off somewhere herself, enjoying the company of a bed full of willing bodies. Royalty does indeed have its advantages. “And anyway, I _am_ expected to duel as an opening to the Sacred Games. Which means that I need both an opponent and time to train.”

“The duel is going to be performed fully clothed,” Lyon says, fixing him with a glare.

“And a shame, too, if we’re going by historical traditions,” Frey says. “Did you know that gladiatorial combat used to be performed completely…naturally? _And_ oiled! You tell me nothing _accidentally_ slipped—“

“Stormfist is not the capital,” Lyon says sharply.

Not for the first time Frey wishes she was interested in sex so that he could properly distract her and win her over to his side. Georg might have gone for it, but Georg reminds Frey far too much of his own father to find the foreigner attractive. Frey has enough issues, thanks.

“You can’t just go around flaunting the laws here,” Lyon continues. “The Godwins are enough of a threat without you giving them more ammunition and leverage to use against the Queen and Ferid. You must know that they’re watching.”

“Hey if watching’s their thing…” It really is too easy to mess with her.

Pain shoots through the back of his head and it takes a moment to realize that Georg just hit him upside the head. Frey blinks. Hit him. The prince of Falena. His pulse picks up a little and he curses his own weakness. He _does not_ need any more issues, he tells himself again.

“For once in your life, listen,” Georg says. “There are plots here that could threaten the very stability of the queendom. We have to be focused, and we have to be flawless in the face of Godwin scrutiny.”

Frey deflates. They want him to stop…being him. To be some different person, some better prince of Falena. To put aside his lust and his adventures and accept boredom and responsibility and politics and yaaaaaaaawn. That wasn’t him. But if they wanted discretion, fine, he could try to be discrete.

“Well I’m still fucking him,” Frey says, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll make sure we’re not caught, okay?”

Lyon and Georg exchange a doubtful look like they have a real choice in the matter.


	4. ch01.04

The thing was, Frey was considered an easy target. He was mild, horny, and had a tendency to forget where he was much of the time. He wasn’t the only royal with that reputation, though. Sialeeds was by no means seen as a guardian of virtue. But she was also considered an incredibly dangerous person to be on the wrong side of. There was no way that Godwins, even with the history and possible animosity they had with Sialeeds, would dare to offend her, lest they risk a sharp wind at their back. So the solution was painfully easy. While the prince’s bed was being watched for any signs of impropriety, the royal sister’s bed…wasn’t.

Frey arched, pushing his body back against the tanned muscles of Shoon as they moved together on the elegant sheets. Frey had his braid pulled in front of him and used it as a gag as Shoon thrust into him, each down stroke a soft moan of “Freyja, Freyja, Freyja.” The gladiation had a good memory, Frey had to admit. And an exquisite  body. Frey didn’t last long and spent himself over his aunt’s sheets, enduring in satisfied moaning as Shoon came deep in his ass. They collapsed, Frey belly down in his own mess, Shoon’s weight a blanket over him, a pulsing heat that quieted the worries and the fears and the restless need to be something other than useless.

It’s a luxury that Frey cannot find in Sol Falena, where his parents’ watchful gaze prevents most people from engaging in his preferred kind of recreation. He’s supposed to grow up, learn how to protect the nation, protect his sister.

“You should come with me,” Frey says, letting his thoughts wander out his mouth. “I’m sure that there’s lots of fun we can get up.”

Shoon tenses, muscles stiffening against Frey’s back, breath shuddering like it can’t decided if it wants to sigh or not. “I can’t just leave, you know? I’m a slave, in case you missed it.”

“But that’s okay,” Frey says. “I’m rich! I could just buy you!”

And okay, that maybe comes out a little more cheery than Frey intended. But the palace is always looking for servants, and Frey’s sure that if Frey wanted to bring the gladiator with him, they wouldn’t fight too hard. No, they wouldn’t like the idea of him having such a pretty servant, but it’s not like they couldn’t look away. He could double as another bodyguard, even, though probably Lyon wouldn’t appreciate the suggestion.

He doesn’t expect Shoon to stand abruptly, the absence at Frey’s back like a sudden dousing of cold water.

“I can’t believe you,” Shoon says, gathering up his clothes. “Of all the inconsiderate shit…”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Frey asks. “I thought you didn’t like having to fight?”

“I don’t!” Shoon shouted. “I don’t like being a slave, no. I like the idea of being a _sex slave_ even less, though. I mean—is that all you think of me as?”

Frey isn’t prepared for the question and it makes him stumble. He’s still riding the glow of having been ridden so hard, and he’s not used to making rational thought so soon after he’s come. Shoon gives a disgusted snort and turns to leave. Frey reaches for him, trying to stop him.

“Please, just—“

“No,” Shoon says, though he stops long enough to fix Frey with a righteous glare. “If you care at all about if I should get a say in my own actions, no.”

Frey can’t hold that gaze and looks away, nods.

“I just—“ he starts to say, but Shoon is somehow dressed and already out the door, which slams shut, cutting off what Frey might have said.

Well, he fucked that up pretty fast. He drops back down to the bed, suddenly very tired. Did everyone have to be so…touchy? He wants a drink, wants to get high and forget about things. Maybe he should just see what kind of complexes he can develop with Georg. Or…or maybe he should try to apologize.

The sound of the door opening almost convinces him that he won’t have to, that Shoon realizes that he was overreacting. Instead when he looks up he finds Sialeeds standing there, a man on one shoulder, a woman on the other, all their eyes on his naked body sprawled on the bed.

“Uh… Hi, Aunty…?”

Something cold passes through Sialeed’s eyes, and the curtains in the room begin to ripple in the wind despite all the windows being closed.


	5. ch01.05

The arena is a riot of noise, and Frey wonders if maybe he shouldn’t just pretend to be sick. Lym probably wouldn’t think less of him for it, and he wasn’t sure that his parents could think less of him, so no great loss. He was sore, his wrists chafed from where Sialeeds had bound him where he couldn’t touch himself as she and her friends had their fun through the night. At least now he knew why she slept so late into the day.

“Prince, they’re expecting you now,” Lyon says, and as if on cue the cheering in the stands goes up another octave. The announcer has started to speak.

Frey sighs.

“You think maybe I—“

“There’s no getting out of this,” she says. “It’s tradition, and your parents are not going to be okay with you breaking with that at such a crucial time. Not with whatever the Godwins are cooking up. Don’t you care?”

Frey purses his lips. Of course he cares. The Godwins are absolute bastards, and whatever they’re planning is probably not in his own best interest. But it’s hardly the place for a royal prince to do anything about it. What else was the Queen’s Knights for? Wasn’t it precisely to keep useless princes away from important diplomatic fuckups?

But by the disapproving mom look Lyon had, she didn’t see it that way. Closing his eyes, Frey walked forward into the blinding light of the arena rather than answer.

The crowd roars, and in the royal box his family looks on with worry. They don’t want him to embarrass them. They want him to be a warrior, a fighter like his father. As if his hair didn’t mark him straight away as much more his mother’s child, preferring the diplomacy of the bedroom…or the closet…or the corridor…or the stables, to the grit and grime of the battlefield. He stalks forward, trying to swallow down the heat that rises to his face at seeing Shoon there, stretching, body still tight and—

“The royal prince, Freyjadour!” the announcer cries. The crowd renews its cheers. He scans the faces looking down at him. Probably they’re excited to see him fight. To see him beaten. To see him prove just how useless he is. The royal prince. The royal joke. He brings his tri-nunchaku up from his side as a show of readiness.

Shoon’s face is unreadable. Is there regret there, tucked under the professional disinterest of a gladiator. Are his eyes searching Frey’s body for the thrill, or is he just scouting weaknesses. Given that Frey spent most of his time fucking instead of practicing, he definitely has enough of the later.

The referee in the center ring raises his hand and Frey and Shoon approach. They’re supposed to shake hands and wish each other well, to start the Sacred Games off on a note of dignity and pride. Frey extends his arm, aiming at an easy smile he suspects reeks of desperation.

“I…uh…should probably apologize,” he says.

Shoon shrugs. “Won’t change what’s going to happen.”

“Look, what I meant was—“

“I know what you meant. Just…look, just try not to embarrass yourself.”

Frey takes a deep breath and steps back, winces as the referee lowers his hand and the match begins.

Shoon is liquid in combat. Something Frey should have suspected given their time together. He easily ducks under Frey’s first attack, sidesteps the second, and then all Frey can see is a foot connecting with the front of his face. The crowd cheers. The Sacred Games have officially begun.


	6. ch01.06

Everything hurts and Frey can’t stop messing with his bandages. Some part of him just can’t trust a doctor who looks like a vampire. Seriously, the man was like a skull with a stethoscope. And he barely gave Frey anything for the pain. The least he might have done was provide some drugs capable of making the trip back to Sol Falena a bit less…torturous. It certainly would have helped with the drama that unfolded at the Games with Belcoot and Childerich. Frey wants nothing more than to forget it all, though that seems unlikely with a certain glaring reminder standing so close.

“And again, let me say how much I look forward to the engagement party,” Gizel says as they all stand awkwardly on the docks waiting to leave. Lym looks like she wants to retch and for once Frey is in complete agreement with her.

“And Prince Freyjadour, I am sorry about your rough treatment in the games,” Gizel says. “If you’d like, I can make sure that upstart gladiator pays or what he did.”

A small thrill runs up Frey’s spine at the thought of getting Shoon punished. At being able to reassert at least a little of his dignity. But the thought of having anything to do with one of Gizel Godwin’s plans is enough to dissuade him. He shakes his head and immediately regrets it as pain reminds him of the pattern Shoon beat into his face. A tiny smile turns up the corners of Gizel’s mouth, as if he planned for exactly that. The world seems to spin amidst the reminders that he probably has a concussion.

“Then I look forward to the day when we can be…brothers,” Gizel says, bowing low.

For once in his life Frey is glad to feel his stomach roil, the bile coursing up as he throws up all over the front of Gizel’s very expensive clothes. The spray lasts for seconds, Frey just barely able to appreciate the look of shocked fury on Gizel’s face as nausea gipps his guts and squeezes. Lyon rushes over, catching Frey from toppling completely.

“Sorry,” Frey manages after a moment. “Still recovering.”

Gizel’s retreat is all silent fury, and Frey considers that maybe he’s rescued a small victory from this trip dominated by defeat.

“Well that could have gone better,” Georg says.

Ferid, though, laughs. “I don’t know, I think it was pretty funny.” He steps forward and slaps Frey on the back. “Great timing.”

Frey drops to his knees and nearly erupts again.

“And hey, it’s not a complete loss,” Ferid continues. “We have a better idea of what the Godwins are planning, and we’ll have them on our home turf soon enough. Plus, we’re not returning home empty handed.”

Frey looks up at that, and sees a pair of guards escorting Zegai towards them, still chained but otherwise unharmed. A small flutter unfolded in Frey’s chest.

The gladiator towered over everyone—even Ferid and Georg. His brown skin glistened with a film of sweat and dirt. And his eyes, dark and deep, caught Frey’s. Maybe…this wouldn’t be such a bad trip home after all…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay and that's it for Frey's time in Stormfist. Chapter 2 will probably pick up after the events in Sol Falena and be titled Useless in Rainwall. It will feature a much different pairing, so stay tuned.


End file.
